Cock Rock — Karl Koweski

I’ll start off by saying I should’ve been a rock star.  I had the hair for it; long, blonde and feathered.  I had the tight blue jeans, the snake skin boots, the black leather jacket.  I had all the makings of a rock star except the ability to play a musical instrument.  Utter tone deafness kept me from singing anywhere other than the shower and, even then, I couldn’t remember the lyrics to the most mind-numbingly repetitive songs.

Closing in on the dreaded 4-0, it’s small consolation had I been a rock star, my audience would have forsaken me by now just as surely as my hair abandoned my scalp.   Now it seems my blue jeans are tight regardless how loose I buy them.  I’ve long since shed the snake skin footwear.  I still wear the leather jacket and keep what hair I have remaining pulled back in a little ponytail that hangs over the back of my collar like a dead guppy.  And I still play a mean air guitar though I grind out the same ethereal riff no matter what song’s playing.

Needless to say, I’m a big hit at Karaoke Thursday Nights in the Grab-A-Granny basement lounge beneath the Lakeside Hotel.  Here, in four minute increments several times a night, my rock n’roll dreams came true as I drunkenly mumbled through a selection from Bob Dylan’s catalogue or an Alice Cooper number if I was feeling especially rebellious.

As I descended into the lounge, Ginny was on stage belting out a Motown oldie.  She was well known on the karaoke circuit for her ability to actually sing and her inability to go home with any of the boys hounding her for pussy.  I am proud to say I have never pursued her, opting instead for the ignoring-her-existence tactic.  Funny thing about playing hard to get, though.  A lot of times you don’t.

Ginny looked great.  Natural blonde hair cascaded to the small of her back.  She was top heavy, the way all good singers should be.  Her youth and lack of wrinkles were jarring given the location.  I couldn’t help wishing the microphone were a brass pole with Ginny buck ass nekkid, twirling down it upside down.  Of course, I wished that about all women.

Feeling squirrelly, I started with “Pour Some Sugar On Me” just to let the ladies know I was looking for a hole to cuddle up to.  But it became apparent to me after the first verse I was in over my head.  I was sweating profusely by the chorus.  The bar crowd bailed me out, singing along and even clapping at the end which bolstered my confidence enough to sit next to Ginny at the bar.

We exchanged compliments and small talk.  My presence pleased her and she began referring to me as her cock blocker which I mistook for an insult.  As I sulked, she lifted up her shot glass of tequila and said “it takes about four of these to get me naked”.

I held up my beer and said “it only takes a couple of these to make me eligible for a DUI.”

“I guess it only makes sense we go in half on a hotel room.”

I wondered if she’d consider just fucking in the back of my van but decided that would probably make me look like a cheapskate.  Also she made it clear she wanted to take a shower and wash off the stink of booze and cigarettes and I was welcome to join her in the shower provided I promised not to sing.

In the room Ginny stripped down to bra and panties.  I stripped down to nothing.  I haven’t worn underwear in years, not since reading a biography on the Lizard King that claimed he always went commando.  I stood in the doorway, admiring the way the thong divided her ass, tight as a snare drum, as she pulled back the shower curtain.  When she bent over to turn on the hot water I could see the folds of her pussy swathed in sheer red fabric.

Once the water was to her liking, she stepped out of her thong and shrugged off her bra.  Looking coquettishly over her shoulder, arms hugging breasts, she dropped the bra to the floor.  When she faced me, I like to think her eyes zeroed in on my rock star-sized cock.  I’m not sure, though, since my eyes locked onto her tits, the sort of breasts that would have looked right at home in the front row of any hair metal concert from 1986 to 1991.  Nipples like the tips of drumsticks. 

“Looks like you’re ready to rock,” she cooed in her sing song voice.  “You gonna let me sing into that?”

“All night long, baby.”  Or at least for the next five minutes, whichever comes first, I thought as my eyes drifted down to the downy blonde hair between her legs.

Ginny stepped into the shower and I followed.  Steam enveloped us.  She liked her water scalding.  I pressed against her back, my throbbing cock pushing between her ass cheeks if only to keep from suffering burns.  I took the hotel soap and lathered her tits, giving extra attention to her nipples.  She leaned her head back against my shoulder, flopping her wet mop of hair down my chest.

My soap hand slid down her belly, pointer finger leading the charge right down to her puss where my finger massaged her clit as I soaped her pubic hair.  My free hand held her breast because I am not the sort of guy who can leave an exposed tit alone.

She undulated her hips with the rotation of my finger against her clit until she raised up high enough to capture my rod between her legs.  She slid her camel toe the length of my rock star sized cock several times before taking me inside her.

Ginny moaned and pushed her ass against me taking my full length inside her.  I brought both hands up to breast-cupping position, pumping her with slow easy thrusts.

Kicking a foot up on the bathtub faucet, she bent forward singing “fuck me, fuck me harder”.

Fortunately for her, I take requests.  I grabbed her hips and pounded her like a drum solo.  Ginny kept a hand against the shower wall for balance and brought her other hand around, gripping her ass and spreading, giving me a sweet view of the water cascading down her lower back, across her puckered asshole and splashing against my thrusting cock.

Her moans climbed the scales becoming high-pitched yelps as her thighs shuddered with orgasm and it seemed for a brief flash as though I were holding her upright by the sheer strength of my rod, alone.  I was just about ready for my moment in the spotlight, but Ginny had other plans for my immediate future.

She pulled herself off me so quickly I humped her leg three more times before realizing what was going on.  By the time I got my bearings, she was on her knees in front of me taking my dick in her mouth.  Her hands gripped my ass.  My hands gripped her head.  Together we synched up a nice rhythm.  Then she grabbed the base of my cock, twisting it back and forth like an amp dial.  She closed her eyes, humming while she worked up some tasty licks.  I threw up my hands in twin devil horns.

“Rock n’roll, baby.”

But before I could with the crowd pleaser, she stopped again.

“This ain’t gonna be no one hit wonder,” she said.  “This is just the opening act.”

I stood there, dumbly, with my raging hard-on jutting out there like the neck of a bass guitar, the blood thrumming the chords in the main vein.  Was I the opening act? I wondered as she turned off the water.  Did she have someone else in mind for the main event?  Would I have to finish this riff solo; on the road as it were?

No.  Without bothering to dry off Ginny led me into the room.  “We can’t be rock stars without trashing a hotel room.”

“Hell yeah,” I said, thinking wait a second, the room’s registered in my name.

She bent over stripping the sheets off the waterbed.  Seeing her moist quim winking at me dispelled any negative thoughts.  Ginny pulled a large bottle of baby oil from her goodie bag and squeezed a stream across the vinyl until the entire surface gleamed in the television light.

She turned around and playfully squirted me down, and I thought I was going to have to playfully throw a headlock on her before realizing the name of the tune.

Ginny stood, legs akimbo, head thrown back draping her long hair to her ass crack and squirted the baby oil across her breasts.  The oil dribbled down the slope of her tits, dripping off those maddening nipples.  The oil cascaded down her belly, off her swollen lips, collecting in her pubic hair like sparkling diamonds, down her inner thighs and calves.  She squirted until the bottle blew a raspberry then discarded it like an empty fifty of whiskey.

She laid back in the baby oil molasses, glistening body lolling with the motion of the waterbed.  “I’ll let you cum in my face if you pin me,” she said.

Shooting hot streams of jizz into her expectant face would be inspiration enough to attempt damn near anything.  I leapt onto the bed and launched myself on her.  Finding her flesh to be as slippery as the vinyl, the only thing keeping me from sliding off her and the bed was my cock hooking into her puss.

Ginny grunted in pleasant surprise, but before I could thrust deeper into her cunt or pin her, she corkscrewed away from me.  I pawed her ass as she retreated on all fours.  I lunged forward face first into her ass and began licking everything I could get my tongue on.  Asshole, pussy, it’s all the same when coated with baby oil.  Her pubic hair glittered with saliva, cum and oil, and I licked that too.  Her knees slid out from under her.

“You win.  You win, baby.  Fuck me.”

I slid up to her ass.  My cock slipped easily into her cunt.  The surface of the bed was too slick to rise up and get any leverage.  Laying on her back, face buried in her mossy hair as I played with her breasts, I was able to use the roiling water bed to hump her.  My navel slapping her wet ass sounded like a canon shot.

“Oh my god.  I want you to cum all over me.”

She flipped over the moment I pulled out of her.  I clambered up her body until my knees rested on her shoulders and my ass rested on her tits.  Her hand flew back and forth across my slick shaft.

“1…2…3.”

I came hard, growling with the intensity.  I basted her forehead, cheek, a thick stream gushed across the bridge of her nose.  Then she had the cock in her mouth, swallowing the rest of my spunk.  I leaned back, spent, as she sucked me to softness.

Ginny sat up, face cum-drenched.  She smiled her pearly whites.  “So what are we gonna do for an encore?”

I doubted she’d accept sleep as an option.

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Karl Koweski is an enemy of the Amish everywhere.  His crimes against the Mennonites appear in his monthly column Observations of a Dumb Polack at www.zygoteinmycoffee.com.